Crying For Help Part 9

'And it's not so much the s.e.xual impropriety,' I told him. 'I've plenty of experience with kids who've been s.e.xually precocious. It's all the other stuff she does. All that talking to herself. It's as if she goes into this trance; I'm not sure she even realises she's doing it. But you can flip a switch, almost, and she becomes someone else. I think she needs help, John. Psychiatric help, I mean. Anyway, have you managed to find anything else out?'

'Nothing specific about the abuse allegation, sadly. Not as yet. But I have at least been able to establish a bit more family background.'

'Brilliant,' I said, sitting down on the bottom stair. 'Shoot.'

'Sad story,' he began. 'Aren't they all? But essentially, her mum had her at 16.'

'That doesn't surprise me. She looked hardly any older than Riley when I saw her.'

'Because she wasn't. What would she be now, 28? Anyway, the father, as you know, has never been in the picture. Never seen or heard of again after that one-night stand, far as I know. May not have even known Grace was pregnant. What we do know, however, is that the parents were mortified. They lived in another part of the country altogether when their daughter fell pregnant, but moved the whole family, lock, stock and barrel, up here. Including the younger brother this is the guy who fostered Sophia originally, her Uncle James who was by all accounts none too happy about the move. Seems he married young and moved his wife well away from it all.'

'Away from what?'

'From the parents, is what I've been told by social services. They were very controlling, apparently. Particularly the mother. Not short of a bob or two either. Quite well to do. Which fits, because they apparently installed Grace and little Sophia in a flat and, financially, she wanted for nothing.'

'Bit odd.'

'I thought so too. But apparently that was the set-up. As far as we know, she never really had any sort of job. Just lived off the bank of her mum and dad. Sophia had pretty much anything she wanted as well ... hmmm, well, materially, at least. Which would obviously explain why she comes across as being so spoilt. As you say, a strange sort of set-up. And of course then Sophia's Addison's disease was diagnosed not sure quite when that was, but quite young so that dominated things a fair bit.'

'And with such a young mother, and a lone one ...' The picture was becoming clearer now. 'I wonder how supportive the parents were? They certainly seemed in bits particularly the grandmother when they accosted us.'

'Well, the impression social services had, having spoken to the uncle, was that the daughter was something of a shameful secret hence that move two hundred miles away. And though she and Sophia were financially supported, she never had much of a life. Pretty young girl, whole life in front of her and everything ... but completely without direction, and single-handedly looking after a sick child. My instincts tell me Sophia's mum was something of a mummy's little princess herself, who rather tarnished her crown by getting pregnant. And you know, Casey, of course you do, how throwing money at a kid with problems often just makes them worse. Had she had to fend for herself a bit more, maybe she would have been more motivated. Got a job, got a life.'

Got over herself and perhaps focused on her child, for that matter. 'You are so right,' I agreed.

'But as it was, it seems she was mostly directionless and by all accounts highly promiscuous, too. Pretty girl. Constant stream of boyfriends coming and going. And the consensus, and certainly the brother would seem to corroborate this, was that she resented Sophia greatly, for having ruined her life. As did the grandparents.' John sighed. 'I know we see this sort of thing all the time, but it never gets any less upsetting, does it? These poor kids. Anyway, that's why the brother took her in when her mum had her accident. No choice. Because the grandparents pretty much disowned her.'

'That's so shocking. And then he did as well.'

'It wasn't that so much. I don't think he wanted to. He just couldn't handle her. Big difference. Wife pregnant, this sick child, all the baggage with his parents ...'

'I suppose. And, if current form's anything to go by, she was one h.e.l.l of a lot to take on. And speaking of which, how is Jean doing?'

'Um, not entirely sure, to be honest. Okay, I think. I've not heard anything to the contrary, certainly. How are you doing, that's the main point. Are you coping?'

'Just about,' I said. 'Though I'm not at all happy about the thing with Kieron.'

'I know,' he said. 'And I'm so sorry to put you through all this, Casey. I know it's hard ... But be rea.s.sured. You have your safe care agreement in place, and '

'John, you know as well as I do that's just a piece of paper in a file. Means nothing when things like happened yesterday happen.'

'I know, Casey. Look, here's a thought. Do you think it would be helpful if I came round and had a chat with Sophia myself? You know, just ran through what's acceptable and what's not with her, pretty d.a.m.ned firmly?'

'I don't think it'll make any difference at all, John. She's already apologised for yesterday and I've told her that's the end of the matter. The problem is that I honestly don't think she wants to do and say these things. It's just like it's instinctive with her. Like a learned behaviour. Which, after what you've told me, would seem to fit. And there's also the Addison's. Do you know much about it?' John admitted that he didn't. 'Well, I do. I've been reading up on it big time, as you can imagine. And there's this symptom of "brain fog" well, that seems to fit, doesn't it? But I also read that in a few cases when there's extreme stress of some kind patients can develop mental health problems. Depression, even psychosis.'

'That sounds serious.'

'Exactly.' I glanced at the clock on the hall wall. The morning was disappearing fast. 'Look, don't worry, okay?' I said. 'I just want you to be aware, really. We're coping okay. It's just good to know you're at the end of a phone, John. And it's great to have a fuller picture of her background now. That helps.'

'Well, I'm still on it. They're still tracking down the files from the night of the accident. We'll see what that throws up. And, well, in the meantime ...'

'I'll hang in there, John. Don't worry.'

I felt a lot more positive after speaking to John. Hearing Sophia's background put flesh on some bones, and what I'd learned from him certainly put some of her behaviours into perspective. What a start in life! And wasn't that always the case? Being born into a heap of problems, not of her making, had created a near monster out of this poor child. No wonder she had issues that needed resolving.

I decided then and there that from now on I would focus on the positives. Soon, in a few weeks, perhaps, she'd be reunited with her long-term carer. In the meantime, I would do my very best for her.

I got up from the stairs, stretched out my legs and rolled both my sleeves up. An early spring clean was in order. For me, there was nothing quite as cathartic as getting stuck into some serious grime-fighting. I turned the radio right up well, there was no one there to be annoyed by it, was there? and set about making the house really sparkle.

I was about two hours into it when I heard the phone ring. I was in the conservatory by now, having a quick break for a gla.s.s of milk, and had to sprint back into the hall to catch it before it rang off. I was hot and sticky, despite the season, as I'd been giving it so much welly, and had to wipe sweat from my forehead as I s.n.a.t.c.hed up the phone.

'Mrs Watson? Casey? It's Tina Williams here ...'

Oh, G.o.d. That meant school. Tina was the school secretary and I knew her well from when I'd worked there.

'Oh, dear,' I said. 'That sounds ominous, Tina. What's happened?

'She's had some sort of fit, we think. Or a collapse. We're not sure. We've phoned for an ambulance, of course, but we don't know how long it will be, so we'd really like you to come up too, as there's no one here who can administer her emergency medication.'

'Of course,' I said, my heart once again in my boots. 'I'm on my way. Give me ten minutes, okay?'

'Sure,' said Tina. 'See you in a few minutes.'

As I dashed around, pulling off my pinny and grabbing my handbag and car keys, I remembered that I had planned to call her specialist this morning, and had completely forgotten. Sidetracked by John, I thought, then too busy polis.h.i.+ng. Stupid woman! I berated myself angrily.

As I drove towards school I felt increasingly nervous. All that talk about how it would probably never happen, and here it was, happening it was real! She might slip into unconsciousness. And unless the ambulance got there first, this was my bag. I might have to inject the steroid medicine into her myself, and the idea made me queasy. It was one thing to be told how straightforward it would be, but quite another to actually have to do it to a person.

But that might not be necessary in any case. I racked my brain for the correct course of action, hoping all those sessions poring over the leaflets in bed would come back to me now that I needed them. I had to take the syringe out, push the plunger down, insert it into the little bottle, draw up the liquid up, push out any air bubbles, then jab it in her thigh. I must do it quickly, do it decisively, push the plunger fast and firmly. The drug should kick in within ten or fifteen minutes. Was that it? Give or take? Yes, that was it. That was the order. I could do this. I could do this. I could do this.

But when I drove through the school gates I felt a surge of relief. The ambulance was already there. I grabbed my bag and jumped out and ran in through the front doors. With any luck, someone would have done it all already.

I was signed in, and Tina took me down to the medical area, where I was met by a smiling paramedic. Where would the world be without people like that, I thought gratefully.

'Is she okay?' I asked.

'She's just fine, Mrs Watson. My colleague is in there now,' he said, nodding towards the adjoining medical room. 'Giving her a bit of a dressing down, actually. She knows exactly how to control her condition been very vocal about it and seemed quite proud, in fact, to tell us that she knew this would happen if she had a bout of vomiting and didn't take action.'

'She was sick? I'm so sorry,' I said. 'That's really my fault. She refused to take her pills this morning because she said she was feeling ill. I should have kept her at home, shouldn't I? Called the doctor. But she promised me she'd take them when she got to school, and she didn't seem that bad, so ... G.o.d, I'm such an idiot!'

The paramedic was really sweet and sympathetic. 'I tell you, I've only spoken to her for ten minutes,' he rea.s.sured me, 'and I can already see that she's stubborn as well as manipulative. You shouldn't feel guilty. A lot of kids with chronic conditions like this get, shall we say, a bit a.r.s.ey at this age. It's their way of trying to control their condition, rather than it controlling them. But they grow out of it, don't worry. They soon realise that it's much easier to try and find a way of living with it.'

It made sense, what he said, and, for probably the first time, I had a real feeling for the enormity of what Sophia had to live with on a daily basis. She must feel so different from the other kids, having to monitor her body so closely all the time, and at an age when a child is supposed to be carefree.

It was with this in mind that I joined Sophia in the medical room. I immediately went across and hugged her. 'Oh, love,' I said. 'I was so worried. How are you feeling?'

She wrapped her arms around me and started to cry. 'I'm sorry, Casey,' she sobbed. 'Can we go home, please. I'm so tired.'

I glanced over at the paramedic, who nodded. 'Fine to go,' he confirmed. 'And lots of fluids for the rest of the day. But we've made it clear haven't we, young lady? that next time she's sick she needs to let someone know. Because next time she might not be so lucky.'

I felt Sophia stiffen in my arms as he said this. She carefully withdrew from me, wiped her eyes and then looked directly at the paramedic. 'Yes, thank you for that, Andrew,' she said icily. 'But think I understand how my hormones work. Job done, boys. Bye-bye. See you soon.'

'Sophia!' I gasped, shocked by the venom in her voice. 'That was completely uncalled for! Those men came here to help you!'

The paramedics seemed relaxed, however. With 'seen it all before' expressions, they nodded a goodbye to me and left, leaving me stunned by how Sophia could be so rude to them.

Sophia herself simply flopped back into my arms. 'Please can we go home now?' she said in a small, pleading voice. 'I really do feel tired. Really awful.'

Tina gave me a look too a clear 'Oh my G.o.d, poor old you!' one as she duly led me out, armed with more paperwork. This was the ambulance report, to go in my file, and as I tucked it away, having put Sophia to bed, I mused. For a short-term placement, hers was positively bulging.

I spent much of that afternoon musing, in fact. While Sophia slept and I finished my housework, I thought again of her jaw-dropping discourtesy. Was this really just spoilt brat behaviour, was this manipulative, or something more? It seemed so unplanned, so random, so unexpected when it happened. And so often, straight afterwards she seemed genuinely unaware. Unaware, for sure, about quite how inappropriate it was, as was clear every time she apologised for what she'd done. Yes, she was sorry, but she never seemed to have any clear sense of just how wrong it was. I began to wonder if we weren't all too fixated on throwing our hands up in shock and horror to really hear what was happening with this strange and challenging young girl.

Was this a cry for help? And were none of us listening?

Chapter 13.

The next couple of weeks seemed to go by in a fog. Living with Sophia was like riding on an unfamiliar rollercoaster; we never knew when the next white-knuckle bit was going to happen. When she was in a sunny mood she was a joy to be around, now she'd settled in funny and giggly and sweet. But when she got into one of her dark moods she was really quite venomous, slamming doors my poor doors! shouting and swearing, and storming off, enraged, to her room. She could swear like a navvy, and she seemed to relish doing so when she was like that, sometimes at all of us, and sometimes at herself. There seemed no triggers to all this, and no warning signs either. The only time I had a clue that she was about to switch personas was if she failed to take her medication at the right time. At those times she would become flushed and unsteady and speak gibberish. And I was becoming adept at spotting the signs now, which was a relief. But her mood swings and violent temper weren't just about her condition. And now I knew so much more about how she'd come to be here, I knew it would take much more than a couple of pills to get her right.

But in the short term things were looking up. Mike had fitted locks to the bedroom doors, as he'd promised, and as he'd promised Kieron had come home. By mid-March he'd been home for a couple of weeks, and on this particular Sat.u.r.day had asked Sophia if she'd like to go bowling with him and Lauren. I think he was trying to rebuild his relations.h.i.+p with Sophia for my sake, which was a kind gesture, and made me so proud of him.

Sophia seemed genuinely thrilled to have been asked, too. 'So can I go, Casey?' she asked me.

'Of course you can,' I told her.

'And it'll be nice for you too,' she added, grinning at me impishly. 'Give you a chance to think what we're going to do for my birthday.'

'Hey,' admonished Kieron, 'one treat at a time, missy! When's your birthday anyway? Not soon is it?'

'Kieron!' she cried. 'You know exactly when my birthday is! It's written in giant letters all over the calendar!'

This was true. She had written it there, at my invitation, in big swirly shocking pink felt pen. And it was good to see that she was just as over-excited about her birthday as any other 12-year-old girl. 'He's just winding you up, love,' I said. 'Take no notice. And you're right. Better get my thinking cap on about that, hadn't I?'

I reached into my handbag for my purse so I could give her some money for the outing. And as I pulled it out she surprised me by coming up behind me and planting a kiss on my cheek. 'Thanks, Casey,' she said. 'You're the best.'

I smiled as I waved them off, pleased to see everyone happy, but as I shut the door I felt a wave of sadness wash over me. Because it was a veneer. As the experiences of the last few weeks had proven, days like this couldn't be the norm. Not with all the underlying problems Sophia had. You couldn't put band aids over such big psychological wounds. But days like this did at least show me how they could be, if only we could tap into the past properly and help her to put it right.

I went back into the kitchen and thought about cleaning it. Mike had been called in to work and wouldn't be back for hours yet. No, I thought, today I would resist the urge to don my Marigolds. I'd phone Riley and see if she was free instead. I did need to think about what to do for Sophia's birthday, and being a Sat.u.r.day, there was a good chance David would be around to look after Levi, so Riley could come into town with me for a couple of hours.

Even with all the traumas and horrors of the last few weeks, it was unlike me to have left planning for Sophia's birthday so late. I loved birthdays liked any kind of family celebration really, and anyone who had the good (or bad!) fortune to come into our circle could rely on their special day being Casey-fied. I particularly loved putting on kids' parties with all that cutting and sticking and paint and glitter, they were my forte and I had last year treated Justin to the party of his life a full-on Little Mermaid-themed pool party in the garden, complete with hired giant paddling pool and real sandy beach. If there were awards going for completely mad, ridiculously OTT parties, I would definitely be in for a shot at it.

'So what's the theme for this one?' Riley wanted to know, once we'd got ourselves settled in our favourite cafe and were tucking into French onion soup and Welsh rarebit. 'What sort of thing were you thinking? What sort of things is she into?'

'Hmm,' I said thoughtfully. 'You know, that's quite a hard one, as it happens.'

'Come on, think, Mum. There must be something.'

'Yeah, boys!' I said with feeling. 'But aside from that ...'

'So it's simple. We do a hunk party. Round up a bunch of Kieron's mates from college. Dress them up like Chippendales, have them all dance to that Tom Jones song ... Or then again, hmm. Maybe not.'

But joking aside, it was a poser to know what to do for her. With so much focus on the difficulties brought about by her physical illness and her emotional instability, there'd been precious time for just plain old getting to know this child, really. She'd asked for a mobile phone for her present, and her team had allowed it. Which was unusual. Kids in care aren't generally allowed them, as contact with birth families often needs to be closely monitored for their own wellbeing. Not the case for Sophia, sadly, which was probably why they'd agreed to it. She could hardly go and secretly call her mother, after all.

But then I remembered something. On the form she'd filled in for us she had put down that she really liked musicals. 'She's even been to London a few times,' I told Riley now. 'To see some of the big West End shows.'

'So that's it, then,' said Riley, beginning to warm to the task. 'Yep. I can see this, Mum. The bright lights, the costumes, the greasepaint, the soundtrack ... We can transform your downstairs to the Moulin Rouge theatre, or maybe the Phantom of the Opera one where's that? Or the slums of Victorian London, and do Oliver. I'll be Nancy, and Kieron can be Bill Sykes he'd be good at that ...'

'Wicked!' I said.

'Yes, I know. It will be.'

'No, Wicked. Wicked as in the musical called Wicked. That's her favourite one. She's been to see it. I remember her telling me. Her uncle and aunt took her when they were fostering her. Yes, that's right.'

Riley looked thoughtful. She frowned. 'Such a tragedy her family abandoned her, isn't it?'

'It really is,' I agreed. But I really didn't want to quash my happy mood. Chances were that it wouldn't last terribly long anyway, so I intended to enjoy it while it lasted. 'Let's not dwell on that now,' I said. 'Let's think positive.'

'You're absolutely right, Mum,' Riley said. 'Let's think party. Whatever happens we can't let her out of our clutches without a Watson-style bash to her name, can we?'

Before heading off to the party shop, however, I first had to drag her to the mobile-phone shop down the road so she could do what I couldn't talk sensibly to the man there about what to buy. To a cave-woman like me, at least, a phone was a phone was a phone, a thing you used to make calls and send messages. But apparently not; what we left with both looked good girly pink, encrusted with diamante and, more importantly, did all the other things a phone had to do, like take pictures, make videos and do 'apps'. It was all Greek to me (and it probably did do Greek translations) but Riley a.s.sured me that in this day and age it was a bargain, despite the price almost giving me a heart attack.

But if my bank card wasn't done for the day at least the next bit of spending was more my natural territory. I knew the party accessories shop like the back of my hand. As did Riley. Like mother, like daughter. 'So,' she said, 'Wicked. We need to think colours. Green, black and white, mainly. Yes, that's what we'll go with. Green, black and white balloons, green, black and white face paints ... then we're going to need witch stuff and wizard stuff ...'

'You make it sound like a Halloween party!'

'Mum, do you actually know what the musical's about?'

'It's about The Wizard of Oz, isn't it?'

'Well, not quite. It's about the witches. The good witch, the bad witch, and this very handsome wizard. And the wizard ends up falling for the bad witch, who really wasn't bad and ... Oh, I'll tell you the plot later. Just trust me, okay? The main thing's that she's green. It's the green theme that's key here. Come on, let's start getting stuff in our basket, shall we. I can't be too late because David will be suffering from nappy fatigue.'

And so it was that an hour later, and laden down with all our green stuff, we returned home, feeling very pleased with ourselves. We were just upstairs, stas.h.i.+ng all our purchases out of sight in my bedroom wardrobe, when we heard the sound of the others coming in.

'That's good timing!' I called down, as Riley and I started down the stairs. 'We've just got back ourselves, this very minute.'

I walked into the kitchen then, expecting a sea of smiles and a reply, but was met with an uncomfortable silence. 'Is everything okay?' I asked, looking from one to another. Kieron raised his eyebrows and nodded towards Sophia.

'Everything's fine,' she said. 'Look at his face! Honestly! He's just annoyed 'cos he got beaten by a girl.' She giggled then and reached across to pull his ear.

'Yeah, that's right, Sophia,' he said, batting her hand away. 'Course that's why I'm annoyed.' He reached for Lauren's hand and stomped off with her into the conservatory.

'Okaaay,' said Riley. 'So I think that's my cue to get off. David and Levi will be wondering where I've got to.'